DMV
by Whilom
Summary: “See, Jack, I might have felt nervous when I took my test, but I didn’t care. That’s what’s wrong—you care. You want to do it right. I just want to get the license any way I can.” He stood. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll get your license."


**A/N:** This was something I dragged out of my files, written last year when I first failed my driver's test. Jack is 16 or so. Bobby I guess is around 10 years older (correct?). Forgive me if it's a bit disjointed at the end--part of that is purposeful, part of that is because I never polished it completely and there's no chance of me doing that now. Enjoy!

* * *

"So, how'd it go, princess? You got wheels now like a real man?" 

Jack got in the car and resisted the urge to punch Bobby in the jaw. It wouldn't make a difference, even if he did. Bobby's face was as hard as it looked—he'd punched it before. Jack shut the door behind him and leaned his head back on the seat. It had been harder than he had thought. He hated having someone watching him, evaluating him, testing him. The guy had said before they even started driving that he would not play tricks and would not say anything besides the directions until the end of the test. But still, the silence seemed eerie and uncomfortable and his hands trembled involuntarily as he felt the evaluator's eyes stay on him throughout most of the drive. He didn't even know why he had done it, now, it seemed like such a bad idea.

"Can we just drive home?"

Bobby started up the engine. "Sure." He gave Jack a sidelong glance and folded his lips together. After a moment he said, "I take it you failed."

Jack heaved a sigh. Of course it was just like Bobby to use the word that would be the most straightforward. "No, I didn't pass."

"So you failed." Bobby nodded, unaware that Jack was glaring at him for all he was worth. "Well, you can go back in two weeks, right? So did you schedule?"

"No."

"Well, just call the number when we get home, they'll set you up."

"No."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "Look, Jack, I know it's hard and all but you don't need to act like a kid. You'll make it next time. Just practice more."

"It wasn't my fault, Bobby."

"I didn't say it was your fault, Jack, I said you need to practice more."

"It wasn't me!" Jack shouted.

Bobby pulled up outside their house and gave Jack a long stare. "What's wrong, Jack?"

"Nothing," Jack mumbled, through with being scrutinized for the day. He tried to open the door but Bobby reached across him and blocked the handle. "Move, Bobby, you don't need to act like a kid."

Bobby moved his arm as Jack threw his own words back at him and then followed Jack into the house, slamming the door behind him. When Jack headed straight for his room, Bobby followed. Jack kicked off his shoes and collapsed on his bed.

"What do you want, Bobby?"

"Jack, you're not going to yell at me and then tell me you did it for nothing. If you're going to yell, then you're going to yell for a reason. Now tell me what it is or I'll give you one."

Jack swore under his breath but said nothing else.

Bobby felt the same frustration. He came all the way in the room and shut the door. Alright, then, if Jack wasn't going to list specifics, he would. "Did they do something to you?"

"No."

"Did you have a guy or a girl in the car?"

"Does it matter?"

"Were they just stupid or something?"

"No."

"Did you get an automatic fail?"

"No."

"Were you gone a long time?"

Jack shrugged.

Bobby paused for a moment, then said more quietly, "Did they touch you?" Jack's head whipped around, but Bobby continued, "If they did, I'll take care of it, it's against the law; I'll go back right now and—"

"No, it wasn't like that," Jack said firmly.

Bobby nodded once.

"It wasn't completely like that."

Bobby caught the mumbled words and knew that, like always, he'd have to try a gentler tact in order to reach his youngest brother. "Alright. What was it like?" He sat on the edge of Jack's bed.

Jack leaned back on his bed and began tracing patterns in the air with his finger. "You know when someone's watching you, and it makes you uncomfortable? It was like that. Just worse, 'cause that's what it was like before Evelyn, and someone's always watching to see if you're going to mess up."

Bobby waited a moment before asking, "Like at a house?"

Jack shrugged. "Not just a house. At the agency too. People are always watching you, to see if you mess up or just because…."

"And the evaluator was watching you," Bobby concluded.

"It's their job."

"I know. But you couldn't concentrate. And they keep writing things on their paper, and you don't know if it's good or bad, or if you're going to make it."

"Yeah," Jack said quietly.

Bobby chuckled mirthlessly. "See, Jack, I might have felt nervous when I took my test, but I didn't care. That's what's wrong—you care. You want to do it right. I just want to get the license any way I can." He stood. "Don't worry about it, you'll get your license."

"Look, Bobby, it doesn't matter." Jack ran his finger along his bedspread and shrugged. "Really. Just leave it alone."

"Jack, seriously, if you didn't crash or hit anybody, then I see no reason why they didn't let you pass. You're a great driver, I've seen you!"

"Bobby. I've only driven with Ma."

"There's no way you're worse than Angel." Bobby grinned mischievously.

Jack looked down, fiddling with a loose string on his bedspread.

"You just didn't hit it lucky. Next time, man."

"I don't think there's going to be a next time."

Bobby turned from his exit. "Jack. Don't get depressed about this. I mean it, not this. Hundreds of kids fail their driver's tests! Look at me, I failed twice and I drive."

"They gave you your license because you wore your brass knuckles the last time," Jack protested.

"Yeah, I got smart." Bobby grinned. "'Brass-Knuckle Bobby' they almost put on my license. I'll let you borrow 'em, next time. You won't have a problem."

"There's not going to be a next time. It's not that big of a deal. I don't need to drive anyway."

"Wait a minute, kid, if Ma's going to make me drag your sorry rear all around town for the rest of your life, I can guarantee that you're life is going to be very short."

"I'm going to make it big someday."

Bobby's brow furrowed. He was used to randomly jumping topics when talking to Jack, but this had caught even him off-guard. Jack had that dreamy look on his face like when he was talking about music or his guitar, but he could have sworn that Jack was still talking about his driver's license.

"I'm going to be in a band."

"Sure," Bobby hedged. "Right. And…?" He waited for some kind of enlightened explanation. It came in a statement.

"Rock stars don't need to drive. They take their tour bus."

Bobby stared at his brother for a minute before a grin spread over his face. He may never understand Jack, the way the kid could convince himself that everything was alright even in the face of bitter disappointment. But, hey, if Jack was happy…

He walked out of Jack's room, muttering, "Sure, take a bus. It's not like I care. Just don't look at me to drive you."

Jack heard Angel call about a game of hockey from downstairs and hid the smirk when Bobby popped his head back in his room and said, "Hey, Jackie-O, we're playin' hockey; come on, I'll drive." He said nothing, just nodded quietly and grabbed his skates before heading downstairs.

Rock star Mercer could take his tour bus later.


End file.
